


Spare the Dying

by fangwulf



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: I just love him okay?, M/M, Spoilers for episode 98
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangwulf/pseuds/fangwulf
Summary: In the days before the attack on Gladeholm, emotions and memories are wrestled with as an internal fight that no one can see goes on.  Warning: Major spoilers up to Episode 98.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Spare the Dying

A lanky teenage high elf ran along the edges of Gladeholm. The University of Arcane Arts and Sciences stood tall, beautiful, elegant, in the center of the floating island. Surrounded by those forbidden - at least, to him - Whispering Woods. He stopped, suddenly, to admire those silvered and lustrous magical trees. Watching the creatures among them.

The birds were so lucky. His eyes followed the gliding creatures, diving in for food and nesting, having friends familiar to them, that shared interests. They got to fly in and out of those trees any time they liked. What he wouldn’t give to travel those paths for even just one day. But… it wasn’t safe. It wasn’t right for a high elf to be cavorting among the magical forests. He could hear his mother’s voice admonishing him. Dangerous beasts. Wood Elves. Other creatures could take him.

No, he had to be safe. Of course he did. One day, he might soar among the skies like the ancients. But for now. One had to do as their parents suggested. Sometimes. He would never run wild in the Whispering Woods, he was sure of it. Instead, he would be within those hallowed walls of the University where his parents taught different studies. His father, taller than should be, regal, magnanimous in his smile. His mother, with those all too familiar pince nez glasses on the bridge of her nose, giving her an eternally exasperated look.

_NECROMANCY? You’re studying NECROMANCY?_

He still heard her voice echoing through his head. At eighteen, he could only grin at the offering from the University that came, and the shock from his parents at his chosen school. He could not rebel, after all, in the major ways. He had to accept that there were limits to how he could break from their rigid teachings. He liked Necromancy. He had a natural talent for it. If it offended his parents and the other families, so much the better for it. 

Gladeholm might have been home, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t make the most of it.

~~~~~~~~~

_I don’t… I don’t understand…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Gladeholm was home.

He kept repeating that to himself, mouthing the words, as he looked up at the birds in the sky. The world was so large. So incredible. He was born and raised here, though, contained in their safe little bubble. It was his life. His parents were born and raised here. His grandparents. Their great grandparents. They’d never left, so he'd never left.

"Erdan, you're going to be late for class, hurry up."

A High Elf. Calling his name. He looked up from his seated position, long legs splayed in the grass, elegant fingers digging into the ground beneath him. His fingernails would be hideous, but it suited the state of his studies. He offered a small, casual smile. Lucanus was a mere 70, whereas he was 84. Adulthood was hard to find, sometimes. Good thing elves chose their adulthood, and he was far beyond that. When his parents were finally pleased with his choice of studies, seeing the control he had over the living as well as the dead, then he could choose adulthood.

The blonde elf crouched down and offered him a hand. Extended, so openly, so trusting. He took that hand with equal open trust, and lifted to his feet gracefully, elegantly long elven neck craning to look up at the sky. "I sometimes wish I'd gotten into Transmutation instead of Necromancy. I could likely have wings."

Lucanus laughed with delight at the statement, or perhaps the thought of his friend with wings. Magical. He was so magical. The blonde elf squeezed his hand, and led on from the edge of Gladeholm, away from the forest. "You're excellent at Necromancy, my friend. You show the right way to do this. There's others in the class that are all..." He wrinkled his nose. It was so adorable when he was trying to think. 

"...creepy?" Erdan suggested in a purposefully darkened voice, and then grinned wickedly, wiggling the tips of his long, graceful fingers in Lucanus' direction, emphasizing the stereotype of necromantic mages.

"YES!" The declaration was blurted out as his bold blue eyes widened. "Exactly! It's like they know it's death, but they get a little _too_ much into it.” He started to walk a bit slower, looking back through the sides of his eyes as if ascertaining something about Erdan. Trying to draw information out. “Although Libella. She takes those lessons seriously. _And_ she is making eyes at you, my friend."

His face must have revealed far too much, because his friend's grin widened, and he laughed. "You sly _dog_!" He gently punched Erdan's shoulder. "I somehow knew that!"

"Not dating," he clarified, quickly, perhaps a bit defensively. "Not at all. But I shall not lie. I AM the reason she came in so tired for exams." He likely shouldn't have been speaking so blithely, but something about Lucanus brought it out of him. Casual conversation. Trust. And he wanted to impress him. So badly indeed.

The University was home.

Lucanus pulled him along, towards the building before him. "Come on! We'll have to hurry, but I think we will make it!"

He wasn't watching the birds now.

Gladeholm was home.

Just as long as Lucanus was there, Gladeholm was home.

~~~~~~~~~~

_What… what’s happening? Why am I… why are…_

~~~~~~~~~~

His 100th birthday. Surrounded by his closest friends. He'd chosen adulthood in his sixties so this was just... well. Because Lucanus wanted to have a party. They never got to have parties. His own parents were away, and he'd been worried, so his friend must have known he needed a distraction. 

They were advancing. He kept on studying Necromancy. His teacher must have seen his potential, and showed him the entire University. He was shown the Allcaster, shared its secrets. He shared a quick joke with Qwiksus in Draconic, and made the brass dragon laugh with a fury that shook the floor. He was first in his class, and he didn't even need to study that hard. 

Lucanus was moving into the political field. He was in line to become Headmaster. He was debating their position in the Asmodean War. While Erdan was out living it up. He didn’t think Lucanus would have had it any other way. And despite that. Despite all of his shortcomings, his friend was STILL planning a birthday party for him. He hardly remembered what day his birthday was, but the blonde high elf never forgot.

Plenty of people would come to his floor in the dormitory. The Necromancy dorms were always thought of as quite intense. So many serious people in his class! They’d initially be grouchy about a party of this level. Especially Libella. Ever since he'd told her he didn't want a repeat performance, she was on edge with him. But when the other students found out whose birthday it was for? They would be there. Wine and music! They needed a little merriment. Everything was so serious right about now, and he needed something of a breather. 

Were they all his friends here? Truly, and really? 

So many people were wandering the hallways outside of his dorm room. Holding a cup of mead, while the others sipped at wine. Maybe they thought it was a classier way to get drunk. It made more of an excuse to grow bold, close. Look like adults.

He was 100, and he still felt like he was more of a child. Avoiding those he didn’t wish to see, like Libella. She did look nice. Very nice. In a silken gown that did very little to hide the imagination. He didn’t need to imagine. He didn’t need to imagine for most of the elves here. There were so many glances. Some open and inviting, others sly and mischievous. Blown kisses, knowing looks shared as he wove his way through the crowd. 

It was an odd feeling - for once, he wanted to be alone, and it took all of his struggles to find his room. Small greetings, well wishes, light glancing touches. He shoved the door closed behind him as if he were trying to trap some monster out there. 

“What a _party_ , eh?”

His eyes flicked over to Lucanus, sitting on the bed, wobbling in his drunken state. He was always such a lightweight. He slowly, gracefully, walked to join his friend, flopping on the bed, almost dragging the blonde elf to lay down with him. “What a party,” he agreed with a small nod, and an attempt to lift his head to drink the mead. All in vain.

“PLEASE! It is your birthday! Let me!” His friend giggled - Lucanus never giggled! It was beneath him! He slowly, carefully, sat up, taking the mug from him. A grin was offered as he tilted the mug ever so gracefully. Those eyes curiously looked to where the stream started and then down to where it should go. This was such a bad idea. SO very bad, but Lucanus was the absolute _master_ of bad ideas when he was drunk. Brilliant and charming while sober, running around campus with his underwear on a stick while intoxicated. Trying to pour mead into a necromancer’s open mouth while he laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Maybe Erdan was insane too. As he was allowing this madness. In his defense, this WAS his third mug. He too giggled as half of it ended up on his shirt. “Can you _aim_?”

“Can _you_?” he returned, and laughed, falling on the bed next to Erdan. Close. Warm. _Here_ was home. As he rolled over onto his side, his blue, button up shirt soaked through with mead, looking at the rosy cheeked elf. “Happy birthday, my friend.”

As Lucanus’ hand found his own, long fingers intertwining with his own, looking at him through the corners of his bright blue eyes, the necromancer simply thought this was the best birthday ever.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Why am I remembering all of this… why now?_

~~~~~~~~~~

Gladeholm. Home.

He saw the coffins of his parents being carried on the shoulders of his comrades, he rushed forward. That hand was on his shoulder, trying to hold him back. Lucanus was no stronger or weaker than he, but that hand carried so much weight to it. His friend, who had argued for war, to assist in the Asmodean war. His place in the council on wavering ground, his eyes carrying such guilt. Everything felt so heavy, but not once did he blame Lucanus for his place in this.

“Let me see them.” Erdan spoke with such force, such pointedness. Gone was his light teasing banter. His flirtatious motives were moved to the background in this moment. There was almost a stunned gasp in the procession. His colleagues parted ways, but they were not the aged, battle-hardened soldiers who carried his parents’ bodies on shoulders. They were not the ones who told him that he didn’t want to see them like this.

“I can help them.”

Again, a shake of that stern head. He wasn’t used to being denied. But the weight that he carried was dwarfed by the weight they had. The weight carried in their remaining eyes. War was ugly beyond belief. No one could be helped. Not like this. The orcs would not have taken hostages. 

They would have taken food.

The war was won, but at what cost? At his friend ducking away from the procession? At Erdan being denied even a _glancing look_ at his parents?

_They can’t be raised if there are parts missing._

_Orcs take food, not hostages._

No one followed Erdan, away from the reverent elves, watching the bodies be marched by. The elves that had survived were barely living. He couldn’t bear to look at it. So often he’d negotiated with death, but this was just spitting in his face. He felt powerless for the first time in his life.

~~~~~~~~~~

_I don’t want to remember this._

~~~~~~~~~~

That night. The nights after his parents. After he’d made the worst mistake of his life, when he’d brought them back together, only for them to fall apart. When he’d trusted Ilsed and the Lich. After that memory was taken from him. After Ilsed’s body was taken from him.

_Ironic…_

Even in the memory. Even then, he looked up, and around. Lucanus was there in this one too. He remembered this one. This memory. The building wasn’t missing bricks when it originally happened, though, nor did the walls seem to be missing chunks. 

“Please.” His voice was finally audible. “I need to know… what’s… happening?”

Lucanus canted his head, looking to his friend. “It’s your life, Erdan.” It was not the blonde elf's voice. If anything, that voice sounded more like his own voice, only warbled. Corrupted.

The memory… he’d interrupted it. How did he do that? What was this?

He had been crying. He felt his haggard expression, and that thrumming of a headache in the back of his head. He knew this one. “I do not…”

His voice cut off again, without his will, and the memory continued. Lucanus began moving again, as if the memory had paused in the middle, continuing once he was done questioning it. The blonde elf's expression changed from robotic to empathetic, worried, sad. He walked slowly over to the bed, but for a moment, he stopped, as the memory warbled. The walls of the room flexed, fluctuated. Lucanus looked around, confused. 

Right. Erdan had not seen him at first. He turned his head, towards the window. He felt the familiar weight sitting on the bed next to him. The warm hand rested on his shoulder, and his head barely turned towards the voice. “You have to go back to class. At some point. We have a promising sorcerer tiefling child. Descended from a long line of draconic sorcerers. I think you’d be interested to know…”

His friend was trying to distract him. He'd listened to the diatribe about students for a while but it had sounded hollow, and he had retained very little from it. He’d not been himself for weeks after the incident. There was food left for him, but he hadn’t touched much of it. He felt the ravening hunger but how much of that was his actual memory versus how much of it was the wraith, he could not say. Picking at a few things, a bit of meat here, some pieces of cheese there, but not enough to maintain himself. Much of the food had gone bad, starting to create a foul smell. It wasn't clear if that was his own poisoned skin. Everything had gone so wrong. This memory… it was unfair. To present this to him as his mind was going.

Elves were incredibly hard to kill permanently. Long lived. Full of magic. The body would have to be completely destroyed. The wraith knew that. 

He was destroying his body.

Like his parents were. Torn apart. 

He choked back a cry, and Lucanus’ arms were suddenly around him, holding him tight. He was safe. No one else could see this memory. It would not only ruin his reputation, it might make the others not trust him as well. He could not handle that. He was leaning towards teaching Necromancy, after all. He had to be… solid. Trustworthy. Leave behind those old days. But for now, he could cry in his friend’s arms, at least, one last time. He looked up, then, turning his head towards Lucanus.

His face was so close. So unbearably close to his. This was the memory. This was what he wanted. This was what he dreaded. It was the last chance he would get to do this. It was the only time he’d get to make that terrible, wonderful mistake of sharing that kiss with his friend. That kiss, that led to more. More touches. More warmth, that one glorious night that he’d gotten.

And the aftermath, of tossed clothing. A tangling of limbs, and soft shoulder kisses. The memory of their tryst… it wouldn’t last, but for once, he wanted it to.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Let me end on this. Let it end. On this._

_You know what happened next._

~~~~~~~~~~

The feminine, freckled back. Long, lustrous red hair drifting down like a cascade of fire.

She was so incredibly beautiful. 

She complimented him well.

He’d come to see Lucanus, and all he’d seen was her back and his fingers. Those graceful, delicate fingers that had danced about his own body lay on her curvaceous hips. The movements that dance that they’d once shared.

He closed the door, quietly, after them. 

The memory went so swiftly. It made sense. He hardly recalled the walk out. The thoughts that swirled through his head. He had never made any declarations of claiming anyone, least of all the new Headmaster. He had spent his younger years being rather flippant. Making his way through different elves among his peers. He had no right to hurt. 

_With the amount of hurt you caused, you have no right to hurt._

_I am dying._

The sly voice in the back of his head was there. _Clever, clever Erdan._ It chuckled. It was his voice, but disturbingly different. A corrupted level of his voice. _Death is your domain. And yet you did not see it creeping for days._

He sighed, exhaled, really. The world looked like an abstract painting around him. The plague sword. Of course. 

_You could have dispelled it days ago. If you had just been a little more clever, pet,_ his own voice crooned back at him in a taunting manner,, from the mouth of the shadow duplicate. _Instead. You were too focused on blame. On worry over someone you love that will never love you back. Your ire at the Paladin._

There was a cold hand on his shoulder. So chilling, but for some reason, rather comforting. It was himself. A grinning, brighter version of himself from his youth. A predatory gleam was in its eye, a sparkle off of those pince nez glasses. A copy of him. A replica. But more him that he had been in a long, long time.

_I am in the process of destroying your body completely. Ohh, you should see their faces._ The copy of him sounded delighted. _That Paladin that killed you falling prey to your own spells. The Fighter, alone, doing what he needs to do but seeming so… conflicted._ The voice almost purred as those clawed, smoky fingers traced over his chest. _He cares for the dragon, after all. You killed your friend. Do you want to see how it happened?_

_No…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Qwiksus raised his head, as the Elven figure appeared before him. A pleasant smile, and a nod that was not his own. The booming voice of the brass dragon sounded. “You have to have a Hall Pass to… Ah! Erdan! Come to visit the All-Caster?”

That copy of himself walked towards the dragon, wordlessly.

~~~~~~~~~~

_He did not stand a chance. He knew you. You were a friend._

_No…_

~~~~~~~~~~

His hand was offered out, extended. The Necromantic energy gathered. No. No, not that. The Plague. The Disease, rotting and decaying. 

Qwiksus did not smell it. Did not feel it. As his great head leaned down to press under that hand for the scratching that often were their personal greeting.

~~~~~~~~~~

He closed his eyes tightly, suffusing with tears.

He did not want to see. 

He did not have a choice.

_It’s your life, Erdan. It’s your fault._

~~~~~~~~~~

Scaled rotted away. Qwixus’ wide eyes watching. Confused. Terrified. Trying so hard to get away. Trapped, like the great beast never deserved to be. He did not have the resistance of a Paladin. He could not fight the plague that his friend’s hands spread.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Please… stop it…_

~~~~~~~~~~

As the last of that great brass skin rotted away, the skeletal beast that remained roared, as he climbed onto its back. That wide, impossible grin on his face. It was a smile that resembled his earlier years, yet filled with malicious intent. 

A brief moment, as he saw a skeletal feline slink from around the back. From where the All-Caster had been. In this form, he did not recognize the beast. Qwiksus - or the Undead Dragon that had once been the guardian of the All-Caster, snapped at the tiny creature.

She lashed out. With fierce claws, and a snarl, before running past the two, and out of the area. 

“Let her go,” his voice said, with magnanimous mercilessness. “She cannot do anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

That figure of himself, in this black void, circled around him. He could see. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t the same.

Because his own smile was genuine. In this dark, hopeless place, he smiled.

The creature looked momentarily suspicious, but continued. 

_All of the mistakes you made in your life. Chasing that woman away only drove them together. The Grave Robbers just brought you in contact with the ones that would end your life._

He had to think. Don’t telegraph. Think calculatingly. Mentioning the Grave Robbers only made him think more smoothly. 

_You... What are you plotting?_

He could feel it.

He could feel the spells that his body was casting, even if what was within was not him.

He looked to the creature, and its clawed fingers shoved into his head.

He tried to scream, but could not, as…

~~~~~~~~~~

“You should leave, Jolene. He will not understand.”

He felt the life within her. “He has his reputation to uphold. The others… on the council. He could lose his job.”

Her eyes. They had that same look that his own had, on that night. Hurt. Betrayal. Undeserved hurt and betrayal. 

“You know how it is.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Why he just poked at her, at a powerful druid. She could not possibly know how it was. The Crick was always lower status. His shame must have shown on his face for even thinking it, for lashing out irrationally.

Her soft words in response hurt vastly more than if she had been casually cruel like he had. “It’s all right, youngun. I ‘ppreciate y’all lettin’ me know. It hurts a little less when it’s from a friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~

_She called you a friend. You, who chased her away with such malice. You got to see that same hurt twice, though. Didn’t you?_

~~~~~~~~~~

In the eyes of her daughter. When he told her. He told her she’d been asked to leave, but he didn’t go into detail as to who asked her. Encouraged her to leave.

Moonshine had been so hurt. So _angry_ , as if seeking out some sort of logic to that cruelty to her mother. No one could blame her for being angry.

~~~~~~~~~~

_She hated you for that. You know she did._

No. 

The creature paused in its movements. _No?_ It … he… tilted its head uncomfortably, looking at him almost upside down.

His chin slowly raised. “No.”

His audible voice, through this place, while quiet, made the creature stir. Made his alter ego take a step back. 

“She was angry. Yes. I did wrong to Jolene. Yes. But Moonshine Cybin did not hate me. She does not have the capacity to hate for something like that.”

He spoke. As truth. The void started to break from around him. Cracks erupted from the ground, underneath his slow, casual steps.

The creature stopped its floating, and started moving backwards, away from it. 

Erdan’s voice. His true voice. Spoke from his mouth. His words. And not from Plague, as this reality started to break. “Those were. My memories. My emotions that you manipulated, twisted into something ugly.”

And now. Now he forced those emotions. Moonshine Cybin’s voice chanted heartily for him to be lead of Gladeholm, and to be in charge of the All-Caster. Her bright, winning smile as she waved, and joked among the others for his ‘skeleton cat’. Her open and honest emotions, refreshing, and kind.

His smile came, unbidden to his face. A crack opened up in the void, a chunk of it falling inches away from him. He did not startle, but his Shadow did.

Hardwon, drunk and excited, shouting his name. His genuine sadness at having to fight Qwiksus and himself. He was so innocent, in so many ways, for someone who had died so many times. He could hear the hammer swinging. Not just out of duty, out of need, to protect his friends. Including Erdan, and all of Gladeholm.

Another crack, as the creature started to waver. It tried to reach out. To show him…

The Paladin. Holding out the sword.

_It was HIS fault you are dying!_ It hissed, shivering as the prison of its own making started to crumble.

“No.”

Again, that single, weighted word held such power, as his elegant hand reached out. His hand against the creature’s throat. It was a delicate touch, as the other him shivered in terror. Erdan’s head tilted to the side, observing. As a lover might. A casual caress of fingers. Familiar.

Beverly Toegold’s guilt was only a side-effect of his kindness. It had been manipulated and twisted by Plague. Every attempt to apologize stuck in his head. That attention paid to things he cared about. 

He knew it was his spell that would trap him. He felt the casting. There it was. He could see it. He did not have much time.

“No. It is your fault. That I am dying.” 

The thing. The other-him, started to shiver, as the void started to crumble. 

“But it is my choice. To die.”

_No!_

It was but a moment that he had, a desperate decision, as he was yanked out of the void. And into … 

Home. He was home. He was himself. He wasn't alive, but he was home. 

_I am so sorry, Lucanus._

He was a Necromancer. He was the Master of Life and Death. It could have his body. He was in control of himself.

_Such a good girl, Bubbles. Such a good girl._

He had to hurry.

There was not much time.

**Author's Note:**

> I am BEREFT at Erdan, and think he deserves more fic forever. This is a genuine labor of love for my favorite Necromancer ever. EVER ever. Don't At me.


End file.
